


Memory of Touch

by reen212000



Category: Thoughtcrimes (2003)
Genre: Family Drama, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-03
Updated: 2012-04-03
Packaged: 2017-11-03 00:16:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 17,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/374944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reen212000/pseuds/reen212000
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aftermath, family, and secrets. Brendan spends some downtime at his childhood home. Sequel to Manipulation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This originally appeared in June 2008.

Brendan Dean tossed and turned in his hospital bed, anxious for the next day. After two days of observation, his doctor finally decided to let him go. Visiting hours were over, and his partner reluctantly left his bedside. Freya had comforted him, reassured him for nearly a day, coaxing his overloaded brain to settle. Corralling the implanted memories left him exhausted, but he could finally rest.

_I’m spending the weekend with my mother._ Brendan stared at the ceiling, waiting for sleep to claim him. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw Larkin leaning over him, or a person he never recalled meeting. Sitting up, the agent gingerly got out of bed. They insisted he keep the IV until he left the next day, but he was tired of carting around the pole every time he left his bed. 

Moving over to the window, Brendan raised the blinds to stare out at the city. Half the view was blocked by an adjoining wing of the hospital. Watching the glittering lights of the city, he felt the weariness creep up on him. Shuffling over to the chair in the corner, Brendan grabbed a blanket off the bed, and wrapped himself in it. From this vantage point, he could see exactly two stars. I love New York.

“Mister Dean? Are you all right?” A high pitched voice asked from somewhere to his left.

He woke with a start, surprised by her voice and the bright light bouncing off a window and into his eyes. That’s not gonna help my headache. “I’m... I’m fine,” he rasped, shielding his eyes from the light. “Must’ve fallen asleep.”

“Yes.” The nurse frowned at him, crossing her arms. “It’s early, so let’s get you back to bed.”

Brendan shook his head. “I’m good. Don’t really feel like lying down right now.” _She isn’t really going to make me get back in bed, is she?_

“Please , sir. I–”

“Morning, Agent Dean.” Doctor Levinson swanned into the room, clicking a pen as he perused the patient’s medical chart. “Are you giving your nurse a hard time? Come on, back in bed.”

“But I don’t wanna. Been there too long,” Brendan said, already struggling to rise. By the time he shuffled back to the bed, all he could only think of falling into it. The impromptu nap had given him no rest whatsoever.

“Just lie still while I take your vitals, okay? You can walk around once you’ve had breakfast.” The nurse – Tina – gently examined his neck and shoulders, while the doctor asked questions. Soon Brendan was lulled into a light doze, completely missing the end of the pervasive touching and medical people leaving. The breakfast tray clanged, startling him awake, the heart monitor beeping like crazy.

“Sorry about that, Mister Dean. You hungry?” Another nurse – Hank – swung the table over, setting the covered dish on top of a newspaper. With practiced flourish, he removed the cover. “Eat up. Looks like you’ve skipped a few already.” With a wink, Hank turned to leave.

As soon as the smell hit, Brendan took a deep breath, trying to swallow his nausea. _Can’t go backwards!_ “Thanks,” he said thickly, eying the eggs and toast with disdain.

Hank reappeared, placing an emesis basin within arm’s reach. “I’ll be back later, Mister Dean.”

“Okay,” Brendan said quietly, choosing between the food and the basin. Ultimately, the basin won out. When the retching finally stopped, he wanted to get rid of the evidence. Grabbing his constant companion, the IV pole, he entered the bathroom. Behind a heavy curtain, he discovered a shower. _Sweet!_ After flushing and rinsing, Brendan happily stripped. The IV was a problem, but he merely freed the bag from its hook, and placed it on a shelf inside the shower. Warm water beat down on his chilled skin; he wished it would warm his bones.

Using every available handrail, Brendan was able to keep himself upright. For the first time in nearly three days, he examined his body. The bruises on his arm were not bad, mostly green and yellow. Purple bruises adorned his wrists, and would likely take a while to fade. Avoiding the mirror most of the time, he wasn’t sure he wanted to see the bruises on his neck and shoulders everyone had been so worried about. Nausea swept over him again; the memory of colorless eyes boring into his own. A pale face, too close to make out features, and pressure on his chest drove him to his knees.

_Keep it together, Dean! You’re leaving today._

Pulling himself upright, Brendan washed his hair and body with thankfully odorless soap. Drying off, he forewent the mirror once again. _Just do it! You’re not a vampire. Look!_

Turning slowly around, he faced the mirror. The person looking back at him was recognizable, however, Brendan didn’t like what he saw. He started low, wincing at the countable ribs and translucent skin. Dark stubble against pale pale skin, dark smudges under his eyes matching the black and purple bruises along his jaw. More purple bruises dotted his neck, trailing along his collarbone and shoulders. Mottled oval shapes all over; Keith Larkin had left more than his memories with Brendan.

“I need to get outta here.”

\----------------------

It had been a long time since Paget Dean had to take care of her son. The last thing she’d thought she’d be doing this week was cradling Brendan’s head in her lap. The last time he allowed this kind of interaction, they were both a lot younger. Today, he had fallen asleep as soon as the car door closed, and pitched sideways. She gently lay his head on her lap, absently stroking his back.

Leaving the hospital, Brendan was dead on his feet by the time they reached the car. The nurse pushed the wheelchair slowly, mentioning the patient had had a rough night. Sudden movement made Brendan jumpy, so she moved slower and faster by increments. His mother knew he hated hospitals, but most of all, he didn’t want anyone to worry for him. She saw the infamous Dean mask fall into place, very nearly hiding all expression.

Two years ago, they had some stupid fight; occasional phone calls were not the same as physical contact. Two years, and they still kept each other at arm’s length. _He used to hug everyone until..._ Paget willed the thoughts and memories away, trying to focus on the present.

John Harper was a very good friend, and nice enough to let her know when things happened to her son. But there were gaps. Paget suspected larger events were involved; she could never quite pin him on it. While her son was know to be a reliable agent, Brendan’s persistence often led to his poor health and nearly obsessive behavior. As she rubbed his thin shoulder, Paget watched his sleeping face, she was amazed at how young he looked. _God, he’s nearly forty._

Early on in life, Brendan Dean was a rambunctious little boy. _No, he was a brat._ Somehow, he could be in three places at once. Trees, dogs, bikes, roller skates, and stairs figured into every injury. Once, Social Services was called due to several injuries within a month. That was a long day; Brendan had slept through most of it, blissfully unaware of the interrogation his parents endured.

She let her eyes rove the landscape. It was so simple then, only dealing with physical injuries. Now it’s mind tampering. More and more cases came through her offices involving telepaths, telekinetics, and empaths. The judge wondered when people said “the voices made me do it,” if they were actually telling the truth. New laws had to be set in place, and they had to be changed all the time. Paget felt sorry for congress persons and lawyers, who were supposed to suspend imagination while forming a bill. The ‘what if’ became reality; those laws would have to protect, as well as serve the community.

Her own son had the gift of memory, which often did more harm than good. Brendan could remember to the finest detail just about anything. All you had to do was ask, and those hazel eyes would gloss over as he related the memory. But his inflection was wrong; gone was the warmth of his natural voice, leaving only a dead, mechanical voice. Brendan’s father was always more sympathetic, and it frustrated her for a long time until he finally told her his deep dark secret. 

Robert Dean was an empath. Worse, his family was a merry band of Scottish-English grifters, who _could_ sell ice to Eskimos. Robert had escaped the clutches of his family long ago, but Paget often wondered how he found his way to Nolan Enterprises. When she first met Robert, he looked a lot like his son now, skinny, and tired. He mainly kept to himself, and what girl can resist a man shrouded in mystery who looked devastating in black?

She smiled at the memory, absently stroking Brendan’s hair. Paget startled at the flinch; the doctor had told her that Brendan would be sensitive around the head and neck. _As if he needed any more problems!_ She knew he still had nightmares, and sometimes could scarcely be touched. His new partner seemed to be a godsend; Freya knew exactly what to do and when to say it.

The girl later explained she was telepathic. She even explained in detail what had happened to Brendan. While he neither confirmed nor denied anything she said, his lapse in speaking may have been a communication between them. This was all so new to Paget. One minute, he’s speaking Russian; the next, he’s mentally communicating a hurt she could only see in his eyes. Freya informed her of his headaches privately, knowing Brendan would never tell her. “And,” she had said with a sad smile. “He’s really fidgety after laying down so long.” Freya knew that Brendan would need to sleep; his mind had been ravaged and he had fought valiantly.

Again, her hands were in his hair, and this time the flinch was more like a shudder.

“Lemme go,” Brendan slurred, pulling his mother out of her reverie. He suddenly sat upright, eyes very wide and very green. Breathing heavily, he passed a hand over his face. “Mom? Where –?”

“You’re safe, ba – Brendan. We’re almost home.”

Confusion took over his pale face as he scooted to the other end of the seat, out of arm’s reach. He drew his knees up, sitting wedged against the car door. “Sorry, I, um...” He flinched again when she held out her hand.

Paget withdrew her hand quickly, placing both on her lap in plain sight; he watched with interest as she clasped them. “Carswell? Take it easy on that last turn, okay?”

Suddenly, Brendan uncoiled from his position; he knew that curve. Leaning forward, he smiled. “Carswell, don’t you dare.” Scooting closer to his mother, Brendan waited for the blind curve at the end of the road leading to his grandfather’s house.

Expertly, the car swung around the curve, denoting Carswell’s years of experience driving for the Nolan family. The car kicked up dust as it skidded lightly on dry leaves and loose gravel, narrowly missing the mailbox.

Every time they came up to her father’s house, Brendan would have the same reaction. A gleeful laugh as he slammed into whoever sat next to him. Paget rolled her eyes; she couldn’t help but smile. “Ya still got it, Carswell.”

\----------------

Unfolding his thin frame, Brendan got out of the car and glanced around the visible grounds. The tree he had fallen out of numerous times, still stood with all its gnarled grace at the edge of the property; an eighty-year-old garden maze that his grandmother had refused to let him inside; and the dense copse of low pines on the east side of the house. Everything as it was since he left nearly twenty years ago.

“Come inside before you catch a chill, please.”

“Yes, Mother,” Brendan pouted.

Upon entering the house, he was overwhelmed by its largeness. He had forgotten. _I don’t forget anything. I do know I don’t want to go up those stairs._

Paget saw her son’s distress; the fear was still evident so many years later. She wanted to gather him in her arms, but really there was nothing she could do to make him feel differently. Grabbing his hand, Paget decided to at least distract him. She led him to the parlor. “Have a seat; I’ve got a surprise for you.” Her son narrowed his eyes at her. “Don’t look at me like that. It’ll be good I promise.”

Glancing at the newly decorated surroundings, he laughed uneasily. “You mean I get to sit on the furniture?” Keeping his anxiousness at bay, Brendan let his eyes roam the room. “You’ve been busy. Granny Delores must be spinning in her grave right about now.”

“Yer tellin’ me,” Paget said in her best Irish lilt. She gave him a conspiratorial wink. “Sit tight. I’ll be right back.”

Brendan settled on the beautifully upholstered couch, blinking sleepily. “Wow. Doesn’t look like a museum anymore.” Several times, he caught himself dozing. This has got to stop! But listening to a tree tapping outside the window finally caused him to drop off.

This house was always peaceful, despite the bad memories. Flashes of someone else’s life behind closed lids chased him further into sleep. The reorganization was nearly complete. Once he was alert enough, Brendan knew those memories would be locked up for good. But right now, he needed to get well again.

A thump somewhere outside the room woke him. Rubbing his face vigorously, Brendan snatched a magazine off the table, idly flipping through pages.

By the time Paget returned, she found her son drowsily slouching on the couch. “All right, kid. Time for your nap.”

Brendan rose stiffly, pouting a little. “Fine. But I’ll have you know, me and long-term bed rest do not play well together.”

“Never did, sweetie. Come on now,” she chuckled. “Dinner’s at seven-thirty, so I’ll bring it –”

“I can come downstairs, Mom. Haven’t broken anything. Haven’t even been shot.”

Paget stopped in her tracks. _Why would he say that?_ “Shot?” she blurted. “Have you – Did you –?” She felt like she had been in denial all these years. _Being an agent wasn’t that dangerous... was it?_

But her son frowned thoughtfully, as if weighing his words. “It was a flesh wound, no big deal.” Shrugging it off, Brendan slowly climbed the stairs.

“No big –”As she watched his ascending back, Paget wanted to scream. “You and I are going to have to have a serious talk, young man.” After all these years, did she really want to get to know him now?


	2. Chapter 2

Paget caught up to Brendan at the top of the stairs. He gazed around him in wonder; the entire second floor had been transformed. She watched him studiously avoid looking towards the east wing of the house. _It’s not there anymore, honey,_ she wanted to say. _I ripped it out, erased it from existence._

“I rescind my former statement. Delores is not only spinning in her grave, she’s on a Tilt-O-Whirl!”

His mother looked satisfied with his assessment. “I am my father’s daughter. Change is good.” She grabbed his hand, leading him to his new bedroom. “Come on, you’re at the end, right next to my room.”

Brendan rolled his eyes. “Mom, you don’t need to babysit me. I’ll be fine.”

“I’m sure you will be, but that doesn’t mean I don’t get to worry.” She opened the door, revealing a very large suite containing a bed a lot bigger than his own. “You may recall this room, and yes, another place you weren’t allowed. As you can see, Carswell is not hiding in the closet.” The closet door was open, a few clothes hanging inside.

Chuckling, Brendan moved towards the bed. While it looked inviting, it was enormous. “Used to scare the daylights outta me. Is that stairwell still in the closet?”

Paget narrowed her eyes. “What do you think? There’s no way I could get rid of the hidden passages throughout this place. That doesn’t mean you can go traipsing around any time of night.”

Her son rounded his eyes at her in mock innocence. “Me? I would never do such a thing.” Brendan crawled onto the bed. In a matter of minutes, he would be asleep, hopefully not thinking of the past. He thought about the clothes hanging in the closet, and the possibility of the ornate chest of drawers having other clothes just his size.

Carswell entered the room, holding a plastic bag from the hospital, asking what should be done about the clothes Brendan had worn for nearly three days.

“Take them to get cleaned and mend–”

“No.” Brendan sat stiffly on the edge of the bed, thankful he had been sitting; it was likely he would’ve fallen over if that bag came anywhere near him. There was no way he would ever wear those items again. Every detail, every moment was burned into his memory. “Get rid of them,” he gritted, jaw clenched tightly to keep himself in control. He decided resolutely to shove it into a dark, dark room and slam the door. _You won’t win._

Distantly, he heard his name, but he couldn’t respond. Brendan watched the plastic bag leave the room. After he was sure it wouldn’t reappear, he closed heavy eyelids. When he opened them again, a blurry face was above him. “Mom?”

“Brendan! I’ve been calling your name – never mind. Let’s get you under the covers.” Paget hesitantly touched his face, trying to ignore the flinch that inevitably came, and the minute tremors in his body. “You’re so pale, sweetie. Get some rest, okay?”

“You gonna tuck me in now?” he asked sleepily, shivering slightly once between the cool sheets. All the warmth seemingly fled his body. _Snap out of it, Dean!_ “Fine. I’ll sleep. But I’m coming down for dinner.”

Paget gave an indulgent smile. “Of course, dear.”

\-------------------------

As soon as she reached the bottom stair, Paget pulled out her cell phone. Dialing the only person who could help her deal with her son and his situation, she closed her eyes as the phone rang. On the fourth ring, the sounds of a motor nearly drowned out the voice on the other end.

“Pug! It’s been a while! How are you?” the man shouted over the noise.

“Robert, where are you?”

“I’m fixing the boat finally. What’s up?”

 _He sounds so cheerful, so happy. I have to tell him._ “In the middle of winter? Never mind.” She took a deep breath. “Jacks. Brendan’s over for the weekend,” Paget winced at her gloomy voice.

“What’s wrong?” When she didn’t answer right away, the motor switched off, leaving dead silence. “Tell me what’s going on, Pug.”

She rolled her eyes at the stupid nickname. “Don’t call me that. Look, there’sbeenanincident.”

“Paget,” Robert warned. “If something happened to him...”

“No, no! Well... He’s had a run-in with a telepath.”

Silence. “How did Freya take it?”

That was a surprise. Obviously, Brendan had kept in touch with his father. “Everyone’s a bit upset about it. I didn’t realize what could happen when...” _How do I explain this?_

“A manipulator?” His voice deepened. Paget knew that tone; her former husband fully understood the situation. She knew he was planning to do something about it.

“Yes.”

“Is he at least sleeping?”

“Yes. I just got him to bed. I know he should sleep as much as possible, but –”

“I’ll be there by dinner time. No worries, Pug. We’ll get him through this.”

Paget was overwhelmed with relief. Regular criminals and bad guys she could deal with. It was the criminals and bad guys who involved her son in their vendettas she was having a problem with now. “I know, I know. Just – Should I send Carswell to the airport?”

“Don’t worry about it.” There were sounds of movement in the background. “I have a friend who owes me. Make sure the western grounds are clear. See you later, Pug.” With a click, he was gone.

 _I hate that nickname!_ she wanted to shout. Replacing the phone in her pocket, Paget wandered toward the kitchen. “Martha, there’ll be one more for dinner.”

\-------------------

Four hours later, Brendan woke to near darkness and confusion. The bed he lay in was cold and hard at the left side of his body. He silently wished for the smaller hospital bed just to retain warmth. Curling on his right side, Brendan tried to calm his raging thoughts and reorganized his scattered memories. Distantly, he heard his cell phone beep. Snaking his hand out of the covers, Brendan reached for his phone.

Freya had left several messages for him, probably checking on him. Without listening to the voice mail, he dialed her number. “Hey.”

_“Hey! You sound terrible. You okay?”_

Brendan noticed his voice was hoarse and quiet. “I’m fine. Just woke up, actually. How are things?”

 _“You would not believe the thoughts Director Harper had when he came back to the office! I actually had to shut him out.”_ He could tell she was smiling. 

“I bet. What about Michael?”

There was a palpable pause on her end. _“He’s been better, but I think he’ll be okay. I’m not so sure about Terri.”_

Brendan closed his eyes. _Oh, Terri. I wish you didn’t have to go through that._ “I’m sorry.”

_“It’s not your fault. Everything that happened was all about Larkin.”_

“Yeah, I get that, but –”

_“Actually, if it wasn’t for you, Larkin may have never come to us.”_

“What?” Brendan sat up in bed. This he had to hear.

_“You drove the guy totally crazy. I mean he was already there, but you put him ‘round the bend, as they say.”_

Vaguely, he remembered an explanation in the hospital, but he was a bit fuzzy now. “All I did was keep him busy while he gave me the worst headache ever.”

_“I saw your doors, Brendan. Your sheer imagination is what saved you.”_

He couldn’t help but to smile bitterly. “I hid in my own torture chamber. Then, tried to scrape what little sanity I had left to get away. How –”

_“Stop it, okay? You did what you needed to survive. I really don’t think I could have done better.”_

“What? You? Better than me? Nah.”

She laughed. _“You bet, Agent Dean. Hey, where are you?”_

“I’m out at Matilda.”

_“Matilda?”_

Brendan sank down in the bed, feeling warm and sleepy again. “My grandfather called the house that. He thought it had a snooty name before. So it’s Matilda, instead of Marsden Downs, or something like that. It’s an old house built in the thirties, I guess.”

_“You’re in a big, old mansion in Long Island, aren’t you?”_

“Well...” As much as he wanted to feel embarrassed, Brendan wanted his friend to see the garden maze, and the harbor, and his grandfather’s secret hideout. “I’m in Oyster Bay.”

_“Ooh, nice. It’s gotta be freezing out there.”_

Brendan glanced out the window to darkening skies. “Yeah, well, I doubt my mother will let me leave my room.”

A pause. _“How’s that going?”_

“It’s fine. She’s fine. I don’t think she knows what to do with me.” Looking at the ornate ceiling, he smiled. “She totally renovated the place. And I can go into rooms I haven’t seen in twenty years.”

_“Did you jump on the settee in the parlor?”_

Brendan stopped smiling. “How’d you know there was a settee in the parlor?”

 _“Oh my God. You mean I’m right?”_ Freya brayed with laughter. _“I was only kidding!”_

He settled back down under the covers, and yawned. “Yeah, yeah. Laugh all you want.” Stretching out slowly, he adjusted the phone as he rose. “Well, I’m gonna shower and have dinner. Mom thinks I won’t make it downstairs.”

_“Well, just be careful. And call me later, okay?”_

“Sure. Later.” After hanging up, Brendan made his way to the bathroom. “This place is bigger than my apartment.” 

It wasn’t that he was obsessively clean, but all this sleeping made him more groggy by the time he woke up. A second shower seemed just the thing to loosen muscles and wake him the hell up. “Holy crap!” the agent exclaimed out loud. His reflection even scared him. “No wonder everyone wants to take care of me. I look like I’m about to keel over!”

When he exited the overlarge room, he noticed a chopping sound in the distance. Glancing out the window, he saw a helicopter land on the grounds. In the dim light, Brendan saw a familiar person ducking under the artificial wind.

“Dad?”

\--------------------

The helicopter took off, blades beating against the cold evening air. Paget leaned against the door frame, watching her former husband cross the frozen lawn. She hadn’t seen him in person for at least three years. They had amicably divorced long ago, but they tried to keep in touch. For Paget, Robert seemed to be the only one who could argue, debate, and just plain fight without losing his temper. Even with his somewhat limited empathic abilities, he did things for her she would never forget, and never tell. Maybe it was wishful thinking on her part, but he always knew what to say in the perfect tone.

She frowned at the memories. Years later, Paget felt she had been manipulated by everyone, especially Robert. The placating gestures, the soothing tones... the touching. No, she wasn’t a cold woman, but her family wasn’t big on touch. Brendan as a child, like his father, wanted a soothing touch. At least, up until that day. The judge thought her son had the same abilities as his father, knowing exactly what to say and when to say it. Turned out, Brendan had memorized everything said and written down, just so he wouldn’t upset her.

When she and Robert divorced, Paget was certain Brendan would go with his father. They were so alike, not only in appearance. But Brendan stayed with her, making her wonder if Robert had done some coaxing with his ability. Insisting she wasn’t paranoid, she tried and failed to get closer to her little boy.

“Hey, kiddo.” Robert stepped up to her, large hands heavy on her shoulders, smile always at the ready. “I missed you.”

Paget felt herself coloring under his gaze. It was maddening to know he could still make her feel like a teenager after so many years. “Jacks. Glad you could come.”

Yes. Everything would be just fine now.

\--------------------

Brendan made his way slowly down the stairs, expecting to hear yelling – or whispered fighting at the very least. Letting out a breath he didn’t know he held, Brendan walked quietly down the wide, cool hall towards the kitchen. Peeking around the final corner, he spotted his parents embracing each other. _When did Dad get so old?_ he thought suddenly as he watched the man smile. 

With a final squeeze and a laugh, Robert released Paget. Clear blue eyes lighted on a shadow lurking at the other end of the kitchen. “Get over here and give your old man a hug,” he said turning fully away from Paget. His son was too far away from him just now, and he needed to touch Brendan, get a clear picture of what he was up against.

Hesitantly, Brendan came forward, lop-sided grin on his face. He stopped just out of reach, warily glancing from one parent to the other. “What are you doin’ here?” **:apprehension/remorse/happiness:**

Robert closed his eyes against the sudden emotions; it had been a long time since he’d left his shielding down. He hoped this would be for the better. “You kiddin’ me? The Bennett case was all over the news. Had a feeling it was you, so I called in a favor.” **:relief/apprehension/love:** came from Paget. _There is way too much anxiety in the two most important people in my life!_

“I see.” **:skeptical/cautious/weary:** “In that case, glad you’re here.” Brendan offered a smile that didn’t reach his eyes, and his hand for Robert to take. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to hug his father, but he needed to know exactly what was going on. And touching right now wasn’t on his list.

Robert took the proffered hand, studying his son’s face. He immediately wished he had Freya’s power of telepathy. Taking note of the bony wrist sticking out of the long sleeve, Robert looked closely at Brendan. **:hurt/weary/hungry:** _Something isn’t right, and it’s hiding behind his eyes._ “Let’s eat! I’m starved. Looks like you could use a few meals, son.”

“Jacks!” **:fear/dread/amusement:**

“What? I’m just saying... Listen, kid, you’ll be fine. You remember what I taught you, right?” Robert moved to place his arm around Brendan’s shoulders; his son flinched. **:sadness/dread/cold:**

“Yes, I do.” A shadow had passed over Brendan’s face.

Robert Dean frowned at this new situation. _I’ll get to the bottom of this. One of them is talking, whether they like it or not._


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just so's you know, the stuff in bold are emotions, as Robert is an empath.

Dinner went smoothly as the Dean family stuck to surface topics. Brendan wanted very much to pretend last week didn’t happen, and avoided his father’s penetrating gaze. Robert Dean had a habit of sitting where he could keep an eye on his son and his wife; it took Brendan a long time to figure that out. Tonight, he peripherally watched both of his parents while they watched him.

Letting his fork drop against the plate with a loud thump, Brendan narrowed his eyes. “What?” With a sigh, he pushed the plate fully away. “Look, I know you’re both worried, but really I’m fine. I will be fine. I’m not made of glass, and I will not break.”

“You’ll have to talk about this sooner or later, son,” Robert said warily. Blinking against the sudden defensive wall, he realized someone had taught Brendan how to shield himself. _Or maybe after what happened, he learned on his own._ “At least with us, it’s not about whether you’re ready to go back to work.”

Brendan shrugged uncomfortably; he had forgotten about the psych evaluation. If it was Michael Welles, it would be no problem. Chances were, the NSA would bring in someone from Washington, someone completely disassociated with the New York office. Which was likely a good idea, but the agent bristled at re-telling the story. _Shouldn’t reports be read for a reason?_

Watching closely, Paget’s eyes ping-ponged between her men. “If this is going to effect your meals, I suggest we talk about this later.” Then she smiled cheerily. “Let’s take dessert to the movie room and watch something.”

“Movie room?” both men said at once.

**:excited/embarrassed/regretful:** “Well, the place needed one,” Paget shrugged.

**:sad/nauseous/apprehensive:** “Why? I thought it looked fine just before.” Brendan’s voice had grown more quiet. His tentative shield came down, and his emotions were more raw. The old library had been a place of refuge for him when they finally came to live in the old house.

Robert let the emotions roll over him; between his sickly son and his anxious ex-wife, he had to close his eyes against the onslaught. Being fully open to receive anything was an acquired talent, one he had been lax in developing. _It’s been so long since I’ve done this!_ Clearing his throat, he turned to her. “I agree. Why the changes, Pug?”

**:anger/frustration/love:** “You know I hate that name, Robert! I don’t know why you insist – Never mind. You never listen to me anyway.” Leaning back in her chair, she crossed her arms and leveled her eyes at the man. **:uneasy/concerned/sad:** “I’ve decided to sell Meersdon. So I thought I’d update a bit.”

**:anger/worry/sadness:** “That’s too bad,” Brendan said casually. “I don’t know what to say.” _Meersdon, not Marsden. I’ll have to tell Freya._

With great interest, Robert watched that famous Nolan mask of indifference slip over his son’s face. An identical one graced Paget’s face. “Actually I’m glad to be rid of it. No one lives here, and Martha and Andrew would love to retire. I’ve got my apartment in the city, so there’s no need to keep Matilda.”

**:sad/weary/concerned:** “Well, this place is huge. I can understand why you’d want to sell it.” Brendan frowned greatly. “When?”

**:relief/apprehension/relief:** “Soon, I hope; the Historical Society is helping. I’ve got three offers right now. I may go with Jayce Arkham’s offer.” Paget looked sharply across the table, waiting for a reaction.

“What?” Robert snapped out of his emotional observation and straightened in his seat. “I hate that guy, and you know it! Why, Paget? You know he’s gonna turn ‘Tilda into apartments or something ridiculous.”

**:amused/content/relieved:** “Nope. It’s in the Historical Society’s hands. He can’t change the house, and if he does, he comes under some pretty stiff fines.” A cream pot smile curved her lips; she still loved to get a rise out of the old man.

Brendan’s lips curled into a happy smile. “So the garden maze stays. Good. I’m glad.” **:weary/relief/resignation:**

“You better believe it, Pip,” Paget winked, pushing away from the table. “A movie? Brendan Dean, do not roll your eyes at me.”

“Mom, the last time we watched a movie together, you and dad argued how many laws were being broken.”

**:amused/embarrassed/relieved:** “Well, it was a ridiculous movie to begin with,” Paget said, waving a dismissive hand.

“Maybe we should watch something old, you know, black and white,” her son suggested.

Robert followed them out of the dining room, thankful the mood of the house had changed. The dark interior of the movie room further helped his fading headache. Truthfully, he was glad to be rid of this dark and lonely house. Sadness and tragedy coated the walls, and lurked in the shadowed corners of every room. Unknowingly, Paget had changed the persona of Matilda, making it a somewhat happy place again.

With her arm linked with Brendan, Paget guided him to a reclining chair. “Sit back and relax, sweetie. His Girl Friday?” **:amused/mischievous/concerned:** The lethargy that plagued her son was disconcerting, but she was happy to see Brendan coping.

“Really? You know I love that movie, Paget.” Robert’s smile in the dim lighting made Brendan look suspiciously at his mother.

“Yes, but I’m not asking you.” She raised a brow; Robert wondered if she knew Brendan resembled her so often. “I should send you to bed, but I know how far I’ll get with that one.” **:love/concern/exasperation:**

“It’s fine, mom. I probably won’t last the movie,” Brendan said honestly; he felt himself sinking into the soft cushions. He had been cold earlier, and now warmth surrounded his body. Before he knew it, his mother had tucked a blanket around him. **:weary/warmth/love:**

Somewhere in the middle of the movie, Robert felt Brendan drop off into a deep sleep. Conflicting emotions battled for attention. But there was something odd about them, like an echo. By the end of the movie, Brendan had stirred, becoming increasingly restless. A nightmare was making itself known, overwriting whatever good feeling he had at the moment. Once again, the empath wished for telepathy, wanting to see what made his son upset.

“Jacks? What is it?” **:worry/panic/anger:**

Once again, the emotions were swirling fast. Robert closed his eyes as he knelt next to Brendan’s chair. “Not sure. Hang on.” Placing his hands on either side of Brendan’s face, Robert held his son through the series of flinches that followed the touch.

Brendan opened his eyes, but saw nothing, wrapped up in a memory. Those changeable eyes were a dull, exhausted green; Robert held on, hoping for awareness to hit. 

**:panic/terror/confusion:**

An endless loop of the same emotions zig zagged through his mind as Robert gently held his son’s face. He stared intently into the half-closed eyes, waiting. Panic and terror were fuzzy ripples, while confusion was sharp and clear. It seemed to be the only emotion truly emanating from his son.

**:confusion/worry/irritation:**

Brendan took a deep breath, fighting for control. He felt cool hands on his face; warmth flowing from fingertips. Vividly, he remembered this touch, and held on to the memory. Only his father had that touch, and it always came after the worst of nightmares. With a slow blink, Brendan was aware of blue-grey eyes boring into his, and for a minute he thought of another set of eyes. Robert’s face became Larkin’s, and Brendan batted the hands away viciously. The swell of music signaling the end of the movie snapped him back to reality. He nearly jumped out of the chair, trying to keep his heart from leaving his body.

“You okay?”

**:confusion/surprise/confusion:** “Dad?” Scrubbing a hand over his face, Brendan focused on his parents. If the judge were wearing pearls, she’d be clutching them; if his father got any more pale, he might win the contest between them. The lights in the room were too bright, and Brendan had stationed himself against the wall until the movie faded off. “Mmm. Sorry. Guess I fell asleep.”

Robert stood slowly, hearing his right knee pop. Gettin’ too old to do that. “It’s okay. Mind telling us what that was all about?”

**:surpise/confusion/apprehension:** “I... well, um...” Brendan folded his arms over his chest. “That’s gonna take some explaining,” he said quietly, wandering back to the chair.

“We’ll talk about it tomorrow, sweetie,” Paget whispered. She took his hand in hers, trying to warm his icy fingers. “Let’s get you to bed.”

Robert let his family’s emotions wash over him again. _This is gonna hurt later._ He still felt the strange echoes rolling off Brendan. A thought flashed; causing him to halt mid-step. _Those aren’t his! They belong to someone else. Who? The manipulator?_ The empath followed mother and son up the stairs, confused by the tidbits of information that left more questions. He hoped after more sleep, Brendan would be up to sharing the entire story.

When they reached Brendan’s room, Robert placed his hand on the younger man’s shoulder. “Brendan,” Robert ventured, and waited for his son to face him. “Just tell me one thing. Those aren’t your memories or emotions, are they?”

Brendan frowned greatly, head aching with worry. “No. They’re not, dad.” He noticed Robert’s blue eyes now had a splash of gold in the iris. They weren’t that color earlier. Something began to dawn on him as he watched his father’s strange eyes, but his sleepy, overworked mind failed to grasp an answer. “Wait. No, no. This isn’t your problem. I’ll be fine.” _I’m not talking about this now._ Like a door slamming shut, his emotions stilled to the point it seemed he had none.

Trying not to outwardly recoil, Robert kept moving, guiding the younger man to his bed. “Come on, kid. Bed time.”

Giving his best pout, Brendan shuffled forward, sitting heavily on the bed. “Don’t wanna. Been there too long.”

“Maybe so, but it’s the best way to get through this.” Once Brendan was settled, Robert placed his hands on either side of his face again. Rubbing his fingertips over Brendan’s temples, Robert projected warmth and relaxation.

“Wha’cha doin’?” Brendan asked sleepily, relishing the familiar warmth under his father’s hands. “Mom doesn’t look like a pug, you know.”

Robert let a bubble of laughter break through, shifting his concentration. “Not anymore.”

“Jacks!” Paget exited the bathroom in a huff. Intentionally, she left a light on, knowing Brendan would eventually wake disoriented. It seemed to be the only thing that remained constant since he was small.

“Well, pugnacious isn’t really a nickname, is it?” Robert said easily, smiling down at the drowsy man.

A crease formed on Brendan’s brow, and he blinked slowly. “Ya ne pani’mayu.” He drifted off again, this time curling onto his side. “Spo’koinoi ‘nochi.”

“Is that... Russian?”

Paget placed a glass of water on the night stand with a sigh, and shrugged. “Apparently he picked it up recently. Frequents a deli near his office; that’s where they found him...” Anger burned hot and furious through her as she set her jaw.

“No worries, Pug. He’ll be asleep for a while at least.” Reaching over, Robert turned out the light. He grabbed Paget’s hand and they both left their son to sleep.

Closing the door softly, Paget’s green eyes turned misty. “I think I owe you a drink, Jacks.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ya ne pani’mayu = I don’t understand  
> Spo’koinoi ‘nochi = good night


	4. Chapter 4

The next morning, Brendan woke to darkness. The Vegas-quality blackout curtains would ensure guests sleeping late. _Nice going, Mom._ As he rose out of bed, he realized the dizziness was gone. _In fact, I feel pretty good!_ Padding over to the bathroom, Brendan took a very long shower. After a good shave, and a bit of pampering, he exited the steamy room into bright sunshine. Someone had been in his room. The curtains were thrown open and on the bed was a small tray with a slice of toast and a tall glass of orange juice. A smile curved his lips as he spotted the note card. 

_There’s more where this came from. Go now, or Martha will find you. Be back soon. The Judge._

Taking a bite of toast, Brendan rummaged through the chest of drawers and closet for something comfortable to wear. He tromped down the stairs with the glass of juice in hand. The tile floors were cool beneath his bare feet, making him wish he wore slippers. Entering the very bright and very cheery kitchen, he snagged a piece of bacon off the platter on the counter.

Martha and Andrew Carswell were chatting at the sink, coffee mugs in hand. “Well,” Martha said, “It’s about time you woke up. You hungry? I’ll make you something.”

“I think that’s all we’re allowed to do,” Andrew winked. “Your mother left strict instructions.”

Brendan chuckled. “I’ll bet she did.” He flopped onto a stool, and munched on the rest of his bacon strip.

“Anything you want in particular? The Judge went a bit overboard stocking the kitchen.” Martha leaned down to Brendan’s eye level, elbows on the counter. “What’ll it be, kiddo?”

“I think I’ll stick to oatmeal and toast for now,” Brendan replied thickly. Bacon probably wasn’t the best idea right now, but it sure was good. “You know how I like it.”

Martha swatted him on the shoulder. “All that sugar and butter, it’s a wonder it still tastes like oatmeal.”

Grinning happily, Brendan hopped off the stool and headed over to the sun-drenched nook with more orange juice. After staring outside at the grounds, he blinked away the afterimages and spotted the stack of newspapers on the next chair. His mother subscribed to nearly every paper in New York, and probably never read them. The front page of every paper was about the senator’s daughter. His stomach turned at the images that popped into his head; Brendan threw down the paper he held without realizing it.

“Hey, Martha. Would you mind bringing that to my room? I’m... I think I wore myself out this morning.”

She smiled apologetically; she saw the newspaper sliding to the floor. “Of course, sweetie. But I expect to find you tucked up in bed, not pacing like a caged lion.” Martha held up a hand to stall his excuses. “Just because you haven’t lived here for a number of years doesn’t mean I don’t remember your habits.”

“But –”

“Son, I don’t think you’re getting out of this one,” Carswell shook his head, and placed a hand on Brendan’s shoulder. The younger man tried not to flinch; Andrew felt the stiffened joint and the watchful eye.

“Doesn’t look like it.” It was Brendan’s turn to be apologetic. He smiled and headed for the stairs. By the time he reached his room, he felt worn out. Eying the bed dubiously, Brendan paced in front of a sunny window. _Oh my God. She’s right._ He shrugged. Old habits die hard. Crossing his arms, he stared out at the grounds again. His father came into view, and Carswell walked quickly to meet him.

Brendan watched curiously as the men had a brief conversation. Robert nodded and put his hands in his pockets. Stepping around the caretaker, he stared at his shoes dejectedly as he walked towards the house. Then he stopped suddenly, and turned his head unerringly to Brendan’s window. Brendan took a step back automatically; years of surveillance had taught him that. _He didn’t see me, did he? There’s no way... Never mind._

He heard shuffling in the hall through his open door. Brendan ran from the window to the bed and jumped under the covers. Martha entered the bedroom with a larger tray, loaded down with his late breakfast, and a cheerful flower. She squinted her eyes at him; of course she heard him run and jump into bed.

Brendan gave her the look of pure innocence, and she laughed loudly. “Once a brat, always a brat. Eat your oatmeal.” Martha bent down and kissed his forehead. She fussed at his blankets a moment more, then left the room.

“Still giving her trouble, I see.” Robert leaned on the doorjamb, hands still in pockets. “Mind if I join you?”

“Nope. Come on in.” Brendan took a tentative taste of his oatmeal, then smiled. “Perfect.”

He and his father talked about their jobs, Paget, change, and anything that sprang to mind except the two subjects neither wanted to broach. Halfway through breakfast, Brendan’s eyelids started drooping. Robert looked up from his hands to watch his son closely, opening his mind to receive emotions. **:warmth/happiness/concern:** drifted over him as he focused on the sleepy young man before him.

Taking a deep breath, Robert decided it was time to tell his son. “Brendan, you know when you were rescued,” he began, unable to quite find the right words. “What do you remember?”

Brendan wearily shrugged. **:apprehension/suspicion/confusion:** “Honestly, I only remember a sign for the subway, being cold, and the smell of pastrami – What?”

Robert shook his head. “Not this time, son. When you were... younger.”

 **:fear/suspicion/anxious:** “Why do you want to know?” He said quietly, exhaustion abating as he stared straight into his father’s eyes.

“Just... humor me.” _Damn those eyes! The only thing I wish he didn’t inherit from his mother!_ The cold stare and the impassive expression made it slightly difficult to read, but Robert concentrated on the emotions behind the mask. Just when he got over his initial headache, Robert plunged into another, this one worse than the last.

 **:fear/relief/frustration:** “I don’t remember much other than you lifting me out of the trunk. And your hands were really warm.” Brendan let his eyes drift over the comforter, then he snapped them back to his father. “Felt like I slept for a week after that.” He could still feel the man’s phantom hands around his arms, searing his flesh with their heat.

“Anything else?”

 **:suspicion/apprehension/weariness:** Brendan shrugged again, placing the tray on the left side of the bed. Leaning back against the pillows he closed his eyes. Robert wondered if his son fell asleep; he was so pale and worn down, it wouldn’t surprise him.

“Your voice.”

Robert straightened in his chair; Brendan seemed to be organizing his thoughts. The empath tried not to voice any other concerns, and willed himself to stay still.

“You taught me about using rooms and doors to shut out the bad memories. Only I had the key to open them, and no one could get at them but me. I remember this because we built it from the ground up.” Brendan opened his eyes, pinning his father with weary resignation. “You read a do-it-yourself book to me.”

Now that surprised Robert greatly. He was sure his son would never remember half the things they more or less discussed. The empath wasn’t sure where to go from there. “Yeah, I did. You asked me how to build a sturdy room. I tried to tell you to imagine rooms, but it wasn’t working. So I used a book.”

 **:love/relief/weariness:** Brendan blinked sleepily. “Smart.”

“Oh, no! You’re the smart one. Grandpa Nolan gave me the book; he said you would make better use of it than he. I didn’t understand then. Not until you finally woke up.” Robert shook his head incredulously. “Who knew that crazy old man was right.”

“Not that crazy. Mean. Stubborn. Stingy. Intolerant. But not crazy.” Brendan’s eyes softened as he remembered his grandfather. “Well, a little crazy.”

Robert smiled, feeling the relief and love wash over him. Then it closed like a steel trap; he snapped to attention. Brendan was looking over his shoulder. Robert twisted around and saw Paget standing at the door.

“Everything all right?” She asked, hovering at the entrance. **:apprehension/worry/suspicion:**

“Just talking. Are you leaving now?” Robert grew suspicious; he got the feeling his former wife didn’t want their son to know certain things.

Still not entering the room, Paget uncharacteristically shuffled her feet. “Yes. I’ll... I’ll be back by lunch.” She disappeared from view without a good bye.

“That was weird,” Brendan commented. He yawned greatly, sinking into the pillows. “Wonder why she’s nervous.”

For the first time, Robert looked away. “Your mother and I agreed we wouldn’t tell you.”

Brendan blinked awake. Great, two people acting weird. Well, weirder. “Quit with the suspense, Dad. I think I’m old enough to handle whatever it is you want to tell me.”

His father sighed, not exactly sure why they kept this from their son for so long. Didn’t mean to; it just happened that way. “I didn’t know my hands got warmer when I projected.” Glancing away, he smiled reflectively, until a zig zag of distress cut through everything. Looking back at his son, Robert saw Brendan wearing that indifferent mask. But underneath it all was clearly anxiety. The empath grabbed Brendan’s hand before he could snatch it away. “What I’m trying to say is –”

“You’re an empath, right?” **:love/concern/relief:** Brendan bobbed his head quickly. “I had a feeling, but I wasn’t sure until I got locked in my own head recently. To be honest,” he smiled as he squeezed his father’s hand, “I thought you were gonna say something else.”

Robert laughed out loud. “What? Like, you’re adopted? You had a tail? Or you’re a mutant?”

“Well, I am a mutant, right? No one should be able to remember the things I can.” A jaw-cracking yawn interrupted his next thought.

“Look, son. We’ll talk more about this later. Get some sleep, okay?”

“‘kay. Hey, Dad? Glad ya told me.”

The empath shrugged. “Thirty years too late, but who’s counting?”

“Mom,” Brendan replied as his eyes drifted close.

88888888888

When Brendan woke again, the sun was on the other side of the room. Glancing at the clock, he snatched his phone off the night stand. “Hey, Freya. How’s it going?”

 _“Do you really want to know?”_ she deadpanned. _“Feel better?”_

“Sorta. Still really tired.”

_“Yeah, it’ll be like that for another day or so. Two, tops”_

“How do you know?”

_“Michael told me. He would know, right? I’ve caught him twice sleeping at his desk. Harper finally told him to take today off.”_

Brendan smiled. He could almost hear the director’s voice calmly suggesting the doctor go home. Was it possible to miss the office after nearly a week? “He probably needed it more than me. Hey,” Brendan sat up in bed with an idea. “You got your license yet?”

_“Tuesday. Why? ‘Cause I’m not coming to spring you.”_

“I have no idea what you’re talking about. Just making conversation.” He flopped back down to the pillows.

_“Yeah, right. Can’t be that bad. Is it?”_

Brendan sighed. “My dad showed up. I have a feeling Judge Dean was a bit overwhelmed.” He plucked at the lacy comforter.

_“Your dad? He came to see you? That’s good right?”_

“I guess. At least he helped me realize some things about the first time I was... taken. Closure, or something.” He wasn’t sure he wanted to go into the whole empath thing. Of course, Freya was the one person who would understand everything.

Freya remained silent a moment. _“You’re thinking it’s why they broke up. Wasn’t your fault, you know.”_

“I know. For once, I know it wasn’t my fault. I just – I think I just want to go home and –”

 _“Pretend none of this happened? Brendan,”_ Freya sighed. Movement sounded through the line; she was going somewhere private, Brendan surmised. _“I want to pretend none of this happened too. Then and now. Since I couldn’t get the whole number off that van, I feel responsible. Can’t change that.”_

Brendan grimaced. He knew he was whining, but when she said it like that it put things in perspective. “Don’t even go there, okay? Who knew they were looking for me anyway? And that van was stolen. We can’t change what happened, I get that.” He sighed covering his eyes with a shaky hand. “God. I’m gonna have to corner my mother.”

Freya laughed. _“Yeah, you are. What is it with you two? The two of you are too much alike with that whole guilt thing.”_

“Nah. We're beautiful, winsome creatures who beguile all they meet.”

_“I’m hanging up.”_

“You know I’m right.” Brendan pulled up the covers; he could easily fall back asleep. It’s cold in here with all those windows! “Sure you don’t wanna come visit? Last chance for the grand tour.”

_“What?”_

“The Judge is selling the place. I have to agree with her. No one lives here but the caretakers. The occasional party doesn’t account for keeping it.”

 _“I’m sorry. I know you spent most of your life there.”_ Freya cleared her throat theatrically. _“How does that make you feel?”_

“Honestly, a little relieved. Maybe even a little lost.”

His partner seemed a bit stunned at the truthful answer. _“One small step for Brendan Dean.”_

“You have no idea.” Yawning, he snuggled down again, glancing out the window. “Come ooonnnn! Come see me. I’ll take you to the garden maze. We can get lost since it’s so overgrown. Stare out at the thawing cove, climb my favorite tree. I fell out of that tree six times, I’ll have you know.”

 _“Yeah? How many times your parents know about?”_ Freya teased. _“Never mind! Don’t answer that.”_

“Come for breakfast. Martha makes the best oatmeal.”

 _“I don’t think it’s nutritional after a cup of sugar and a stick of butter, Brendan.”_

“Says you. Hey, you should bring Michael. He can debate with my mother. Keep her occupied while we escape. There’s three secret passageways in this house. We could –”

_“All right! All right! I’ll come. Jeez!”_

“Ha! I knew you would!”

_“Anyone ever tell you you’re a brat? A mouthy, nagging brat.”_

“All the time. Don’t forget cute.”

_“Arrrgghh! Now I’m really hanging up.”_

Brendan couldn’t keep the smile from his voice. “See you tomorrow.”

_“Fine. Bye. Take a nap!”_

Closing his phone, he felt better than he had in a long time. Pulling the covers tighter around his body, Brendan fell asleep for the second time in a day.

\---------------

Music filtered through his dreams as Robert Dean groggily searched for the source. “H-hello?”

_“Hey, Jacks. How do you feel?”_

He scrubbed a hand across his face. “I must’ve fallen asleep. Sorry.”

_“It’s okay, sweet – Robert. Headache?”_

Robert smiled at her slip. “Yeah, Pug. A doozy. It’s better now after my little nap.” He untangled the blanket from his legs. “What’s up?”

 _“I’m almost home,”_ she replied quietly. _“Did you... talk?”_

“Yes, we did. Funny thing,” Robert mused, carding a hand through his hair. “He already suspected.”

 _“Really? I suppose he would. Smart kid we’ve got, Jacks.”_ The engine of her car switched off; Paget was home. _“Meet me in the parlor.”_

“All right,” Robert drawled. “But only if you call me sweetie again.”

For the first time since he arrived, Paget Dean laughed the laugh that made him marry her.


	5. Chapter 5

Robert sat in the parlor listening to Paget give instructions to Martha. 

“Dinner will be in Mister Dean’s room. We’ll let Brendan sleep a little more before we wake him.”

“I made stew,” Martha replied. “Hopefully, they’ll both feel up to it.” 

Staring at the fire, the empath leaned back in his chair letting his mind drift. He touched briefly on the somewhat distant emotions of his sleeping son. The echo was back; Brendan seemed to be held in a dream or a memory. His emotions were scattered, but not surprising. Robert turned his attention to his former wife and the caretakers. 

**:proud/concerned/loved:** from Martha.

 **:anxious/tired/worried:** from Paget.

 **:tired/excited/fretful:** from Andrew.

Letting everything wash over him felt liberating, but started to fuel his headache. Taking a deep breath, Robert closed his mind off to the rush of emotions. A presence materialized at his left.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

Robert smiled. “You got enough pennies?”

Paget perched on the arm of his chair. “All you want.” Gently pushing him forward, she massaged the knots in his shoulders and back. “Hungry? I didn’t mean to stay gone so long. One thing led to another; you know how it is.”

Smiling at her guilty feelings, Robert patted her hand. “Starving.”

Making their way up the stairs, Paget led the way down the long, wide hall. She chatted about office things, co-judges, and traffic.

The empath smiled fondly, watching her animated hands as they entered his room. Suddenly, a lightning fast solitary emotion cut through everything. Robert staggered against the wall. Absolute terror came from somewhere in the house. He closed his eyes to pinpoint the emotion, though he was sure where it came from.

“Robert? What’s wrong?” Paget fluttered around him without actually touching him. Never change, Pug. Her hand finally rested on his arm as she guided him to the bed.

“Brendan. Nightmare,” was all he could utter. 

**:apprehensive/worried/scared:** “I’ll go. Wait. What should I – Never mind. I can do this.” With one look back, she hurried out of the room. 

Entering Brendan’s room, Paget crossed to a side table lamp. Light illuminated her son thrashing on the bed, trapped in a dream. Approaching cautiously, she placed her hands on his shoulders, calling his name. Sitting on the edge of the bed, she tried to soothe him.

Brendan stilled momentarily, barely opening his eyes. He only saw, heard, and felt Keith Larkin all around him. A false memory overlapped a true one, casting him in a vicious circle. Feeling a light touch on his shoulders, Brendan recognized the touch of his mother. She always placed her hands on his upper arms first, then would move to his face. Now, she smoothed back his hair. Focusing on her touch, Brendan dragged his mind back to the surface.

“Sweetie? You need to wake up,” Paget said urgently. “You’re having a bad dream, okay?”

“M-m-mom?”

“Yes, honey. Wake up.”

“Can’t. Tired. He won’t go away.”

Paget grew more worried. Her son shivered under her hands; a low grade fever had come quickly. “Brendan? Can you wake up a little? I need you to take some Tylenol, okay?”

His eyes opened a bit more. “Why? I don’t have a headache. Well, not really. Kinda. Dad has one. He’s an empath,” Brendan rambled, shifting around on his bed. The sweater he wore had twisted around his thin body awkwardly keeping him from moving far.

“You have a fever, sweetie.”

“Can’t. Freya’s coming tomorrow. Gotta feel better.”

“Is she? And when were you gonna tell me?”

“Dinner. Is it dinner? I’m not hungry. Kinda thirsty.”

Paget stroked his cheek before she moved off to the bathroom. She returned to his side with pills and water, and coaxed him awake again. “Come on, honey. You don’t want Freya to see you sick like this, right?”

Brendan opened eyes; his movements were still sluggish. “No. She’ll kill me,” he said with a sad smile.

“Well, she does care about you.”

“Even if I’m a little messed up.” He hadn’t meant to say that out loud, but couldn’t stop himself. Wincing, Brendan looked at his mother. “It’s not your fault. People do stupid things, you know.”

Paget glanced down at her hands. “I know. But I – I didn’t mean to push you away. You know that, right?”

Taking a sip of water, Brendan glanced over the rim of the glass. “Well, honestly, not at the time. I thought you wanted me to go with Dad, leave you here in this big house all by yourself.”

“I did, only because I wanted you to be safe. But you wouldn’t leave. I thought your father was influencing your decision with his creepy powers.” Blinking back unshed tears, Paget gave a bitter laugh. “I was so angry with him! Even thought he was manipulating me through you. Shows what I knew.”

Sleepily, Brendan regarded his mother as she took the empty glass from his hands. His father never wanted to hurt her, but she was so stubborn; guilt was a large factor in how they both reacted. The memory of his father leaving flashed through his mind almost painfully. Closing his eyes, he slouched back against the pillows.

Cool hands cupped his face now, much the same way she did when he was little. Carding her fingers through his hair made him relax further. _To think Larkin nearly ruined that for me!_ Brendan concentrated on banishing the false memories and his captor’s touch, picturing his mother comforting him. It was harder than he thought; he shivered when her hand dropped to his shoulder.

“Come on, kiddo. Let’s get you ready for bed.”

“But it’s only eight o’clock!”

“And you’re already half asleep,” Paget chuckled. “How ‘bout a little soup first?”

Brendan consulted his skittish stomach. “Maybe a little.”

“Get changed, and I’ll tell Martha.” She squeezed his hand before she rose. He tugged her into an awkward hug. “Oh, baby. You know I love you, right? I know I’m bad at – well, everything.”

Smiling against her shoulder, Brendan squeezed harder. “The less said, the better, Judge.”

0-0-0-0-0-0-0

After a few bites, Brendan drifted off to sleep. His mother took his temperature before he was fully asleep, tsking all the while. It was still hovering around one hundred, so Paget coaxed him out of the jacket he taken to wearing to bed. She watched as he curled on his side, dropping fully into sleep.

“Well, I hope you’ll be well enough for Freya tomorrow, Pip.” Smoothing back his unruly hair again, Paget kissed his temple.

Exiting, Paget drifted back to Robert’s room. He had a crossword in one hand and a tall glass in the other. Looking over the rim of his reading glasses, Robert smiled.

“You look beat, Pug.” He patted the space next to him on the bed. “Come sit down and help me with this puzzle.”

Raising a skeptical brow, Paget tugged off her shoes and climbed onto the bed. “You know, you could pick up a dictionary once in a while instead of those mysteries.”

Laughing as he placed the glass on the bedside table, Robert waved his free hand over the newspaper with a flourish. “Why? I’ve got two walking encylopedias under one roof.” Sobering, he glanced at his best friend. “Everything okay?”

She scooted around on the bed to face him. Grabbing his hand in both of hers, Paget frowned. “It is now, I think.”

“Good,” Robert replied. He didn’t want to upset his headache again, so he kept his personal shield up. “How is he?”

“He has a slight fever, Jacks. And, apparently he’s invited Freya to visit.”

Now it was Robert’s turn to frown. “Think he’ll feel better in the morning?”

She shrugged. “Maybe. But I’m keeping him in bed just the same.”

“He’s not gonna be happy about that.” Robert gestured toward the small table by the window. “Have some food, and we’ll talk.”

“What’s there to talk about?” Paget gestured toward his empty tray. “You should eat something too. That headache needs more than aspirin.” Placing the tray between them, she served up two bowls of stew. 

“Martha’s famous bread. Nice!” Robert grinned as he broke his slice into bite-sized pieces.

They ate together in relative silence, commenting on the adjustments and additions to the house, and Martha’s cooking. Paget cleared away the tray and dishes, and sat back down on the bed. She faced her former husband with a bitter smile.

Even without his empathic abilities, he knew where this was headed. “Breathe, Paget. It’s not your fault.” 

**:shame/fear/love:** filtered through his defenses as she caught his hand again. “He’s in danger all the time, and I’m powerless to protect him. Always have been.”

Squeezing her hand, Robert smiled. “Oh stop. He is not in danger all the time. Harper has told you as much, I know. Nothing that has happened to –”

“Not this time, no. But the first time. If it wasn’t for my job, he wouldn’t have –”

Robert put up his free hand, stalling more outbursts. “We’re not going to discuss this any further. Quit interrupting!” Pulling her forward, he let Paget place her head on his shoulder. “You know, if there’s anyone to blame, it’s me.”

“What?”

“Yes. I wanted to stay the night, if you recall. I wanted you all to myself, and I wanted room service, and a lazy drive back home on a sunny afternoon.” Robert wiped away a reluctant tear from her cheek, but she pulled away.

“Robert –”

Trying to hide his disappointment, he folded his hands on his lap. “Tell me something, since we’re being so up front today. Is the touching thing genetic?” 

Paget sat upright, green eyes wide and ready for a fight. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“You’re just not a touchy-feely person, I understand. Parents, whatnot. But your son...” Robert shrugged indifferently. “I just think it’s ironic you married an empath. You know, with all the emotions and feelings getting in the way.”

Groaning weakly, she replaced her head on his shoulder. A sniffle and a few tears later, Paget allowed her favorite person to wrap his arms around her. “I suppose it _is_ ironic. Maybe even ludicrous.” Her family deeply loved each other, just didn’t care for the touching. A well-placed hug would go a long way, her mother once informed her. She sighed. “I should go check on Brendan.”

He tightened his arms around her. “You’re not goin’ anywhere. I’m enjoying this too much.”

Paget frowned; she wasn’t sure she could endure this much longer. Or, resist after all these years. “This isn’t the best thing we’ve done, Jacks.” Robert Dean was the first and the last person she could truly open up to, even love enough to touch.

The empath closed his eyes against the sadness and regret that rolled off her in waves. When his headache spiked, Robert shifted closer, kissing the top of her head. Then he had to shut her out again. “You’re probably right.” It reminded him so much of the way it used to be: Painful, happy, and perfect.

“There are so many things, past and present I regret.” Paget sat upright again, turning her intense gaze on him. “I never regretted marrying you. Maybe a little hasty with the divorce, and the whole ignoring thing. Sorry ‘bout that, but –”

“Oh no!” Robert’s wide blue eyes were amused. “If you start apologizing, we have to wake up Brendan. At least he’ll remember this moment!”

Punching his arm, Paget knelt on the bed, crossing her arms. “My God. My mother was right about you.”

“You know you still love me, and I’m fine with that.”

“Stop it!” Paget lifted a pillow, and hit him.

0-0-0-0-0-0-0

When Martha returned to clear the dishes from the room, she found a cloud of feathers, and two people laughing hysterically on a littered bed.

0-0-0-0-0-0-0

Brendan woke at dawn, overly hot and sweaty. Sitting up abruptly, he instantly regretted the movement. Dizziness assaulted him, plunging him back to the pillows. He wanted the license plate of the bus that hit him and the name of the person who dumped ice water on him.

Untangling himself from the damp clothes and bedsheets, he made his way to the edge of the bed. With one foot on the floor, Brendan willed the plastered ceiling to stop wobbling so he could stand. He closed his eyes visualizing the room, and the distance from the bed to the bathroom. 

_The curtains were partially open, an eighteen inch gap between, revealing the grey light of the morning. The chair had been moved about four feet back, near the end of the bed. Six paces to the bathroom entrance, slightly to the left. Once inside, three paces to the shower on the left. Two paces to the sink to the right. Six paces from the door to the toilet._

All he had to do was get up. _Nope. Not yet. Soon._

The clock in the hall chimed on the half hour. _But which half hour?_ Brendan wanted to open his eyes to check the time, but they refused. Soon, an urgency to move slowly brought his other foot to the cool floor. Rising, Brendan staggered in the direction of the bathroom, losing count of his paces. Opening his eyes, he flung out a hand to steady himself. He entered the bathroom, one foot in front of the other, concentrating harder than normally.

By the time he came back to the bed, his energy had left his body. Collapsing into it, Brendan pulled the comforter over his shivering body. He fell into a fitful sleep, dreaming of garden mazes and his grandfather’s laugh. _I miss that crazy man._

0-0-0-0-0-0-0

Paget woke warm and comfortable in the arms of her former husband. Rolling her eyes, she put her hands over face. _If I didn’t know better, I’d say he planned this._

“No I didn’t,” he mumbled, knowing how her mind would work.

“Well, why are you in my room when there’s another room down the hall?” The judge couldn’t help but smile. Dammit.

“I’d get lost in this place. Need bread crumbs.” Robert turned to lay on his back, directing her head to his shoulder. “Why are you up this early?”

“I wake up at the same time every morning.”

Robert pulled a pillow over his face. “But it’s Sunday,” he groaned.

Paget wriggled out of his grasp, and out of the bed. Checking the time, she walked into the bathroom, and emerged with a thermometer. “Be back.”

“Wait, I’m coming,” Robert stretched languidly across the bed, ignoring the way Paget watched him.

They left her room, tip-toeing down the hall to Brendan’s room. Entering, Paget made a beeline for the bed. Brendan was wrapped in his comforter, curled tightly into a ball. Smoothing away the damp hair, Paget gently placed the thermometer in her son’s ear. After the beep, Robert drifted closer.

“Well, Pip, looks like you’re in bed today.” Her only answer was a moan from the cocoon. “Let’s get you situated, honey.”

Robert positioned himself on the other side of the bed; he scooted Brendan’s too-light body under the covers. His mother had fluffed pillows, piling them against the headboard.

“Mom? Dad? What’re you doin’ here? ‘M tired.”

“Yes, sweetie. You still have a fever.”

“Freya here yet?” Brendan once again lost his battle with his drooping eyelids.

“No, maybe later, kiddo,” his father whispered. Robert had two tablets and a glass of water in his hands. “Take these.”

Brendan cracked his eyes open, narrowing them suspiciously. “Drugs?”

While Paget sputtered, Robert directed his son to take the Tylenol. “Why, yes, Brendan. Be good, and take your medicine.”

With shaky hands, he took the glass and the pills. “Time?”

“Nearly, six, I think. You’ve got some time to rest before she comes, okay.”

Brendan glanced between his parents, then closed his eyes. “‘Kay. Wake me up?”

“You bet. Go to sleep.” Paget smoothed his hair back, giving Brendan a kiss. 

They left their son to rest and recover before his guest arrived.

“This a good idea?” Robert asked of no one.

Paget sighed. “I’ll try to keep him in bed, but it’s Freya. I’m sure she’ll handle him better than the both of us.”

“Yeah, I think you’re right. I can’t wait to meet her in person.”

“Well, besides being a handful here, he’s worse at work.”

Robert pulled her into an easy embrace. “At least he decided to spend a few days with us.” He waited for her to respond, but she kept quiet. “Besides, I think he might like us a little.”

She smiled against his neck. “Maybe.”

\---------------

Freya bounced on her toes, waiting for Michael Welles to pick her up. After much cajoling, she finally won him over, convincing him to drive to Oyster Bay. Feeling like a teenager again, she fingered the driver’s permit in her pocket, hoping Welles would let her drive part of the way.

Her phone rang, pulling her out of her musing. “Hey, Michael.”

_“I’m around the corner stuck behind a moving truck. You set to go?”_

He sounds tired. Maybe this is a bad idea. “Yep. Listen, I know–”

 _“Don’t start. I really would like to check on Brendan, too. Mental behavior is my specialty, remember?”_ He sighed. _“Finally! Be there in a second.”_

Closing her phone, Freya glanced down the one way street, looking for a familiar car. When he arrived, she threw her backpack in the back seat, and jumped in the car before people could start honking. “Wow! You know you look really tired. Are you okay?”

Welles smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. _:I’m not gonna lie to you. Nightmares.:_

“I figured as much. I’m sure Brendan’s going through the same thing. Not that he would tell me.”

“Once he gets through the lethargy and the false memories clear up, I think he’ll be more confident.” Michael glanced over at Freya. “I’m not sure if I told you this, but... thank you. For everything.”

Freya blushed under his gaze. “Nothing to thank me for, Michael. Just doing my job.”

“Yes, well, you kept your cool in that kind of situation. I’m not sure I would’ve done the same.” _:If I could have, I’d’ve shot him on sight. Hindsight, and all.:_

The telepath considered his last thought. It was true everyone wanted to kill the guy for doing what he did. But deep down, she knew Michael and his team would’ve wanted to help him first. Maybe find out what made the man walk such a dangerous path.

When they got to a halfway point, Michael pulled off the road. Rubbing his eyes furiously, he got out of the car into the cool air. Leaning against the car, the doctor gazed at the clear sky, squinting in the sunlight. 

“How do you feel?” Freya said through an open window.

He came over to the passenger side, opening the door. “Your turn to drive.”

Letting out a squeal of delight, Freya jumped out of the car and jogged to the driver’s side. Sliding behind the wheel, she adjusted everything. “Nothin’ to worry about,” she said with a wink.

Welles buckled up, and held on.

0-0-0-0-0-0-0

Arriving at Meersdon nearly two hours later, Freya stared in wonder around the grounds. _This is where Brendan grew up? Why would he leave this?_

Leaning over, she woke Michael, who fell into a fitful slumber twenty minutes after they switched. Freya blamed her excellent driving skills, causing the researcher to relax enough to sleep.

“We’re here, Michael.”

He came awake with a start. “Sorry. Great.” He got out of the car, stretching like a cat. “I hope they have coffee.”

“Let’s find out.” She knocked on the massive door; her knuckles felt bruised after doing it.

Shortly thereafter, the door opened, a elderly woman with kind eyes smiled at them. “You must be Freya. Come in, please.” The woman led them to the infamous parlor. “I’m Martha Carswell. My husband and I are the caretakers here. Let me get you both some coffee; you look like you could use it.”

Freya couldn’t sit down just yet. As she paced the small bright room, she let her mind pick out drifting thoughts in the house. Martha had a long list of things to do. A sad and worried voice had a list, too, however this list had to do with Brendan. Listening carefully, she discerned this was Brendan’s mother. The third voice was faint; like trying to hear behind a door, or through a wall. This may have been his father, but Freya couldn’t pinpoint his thoughts.

Martha returned with a tray of coffee and little pastries. “I hope you don’t mind. Everyone skipped breakfast this morning, so I have some leftovers. They were all up fairly late last night.” Images of a massive pillow fight, laughing people, and a pale, smiling Brendan flitted across her mind.

“Everyone okay?” Freya asked, hoping to fish out more information. She wanted to be prepared for anything.

Pouring coffee carefully into each oversized mug, Martha smiled sadly. “Brendan woke last night with a bit of a fever. Got a little worse overnight, but I think he’s improving. His mother’s worried sick, of course.”

“Has he been resting?” Michael chimed in. “Doctor Michael Welles. I also work with Agent Dean.”

The caretaker’s eyes twinkled. _:Another agent? Such exciting work Pip does.:_ “Nice to meet you, Doctor. Yes,” she replied, crossing her arms tightly across her chest. “He’s been resting, not doing anything too strenuous that I know of.” _:Maybe I shouldn’t mention the incident with the newspaper. Turned white as a sheet, he did.:_

Freya took a proffered cup, and thoughtfully stirred cream and sugar into the liquid. “Well, we’re only here for a brief visit. Just to see how he’s doing.”

Waving a dismissive hand, Martha turned to leave. “I know he probably called you and begged and whined for you to come rescue him.” She smiled fondly. “I’ll let them know you’re here.”

Sitting on the couch next to Michael, Freya glanced around the room again. “You know, I always thought parlors were dark and crammed with plastic covered furniture.”

Michael stared into his half empty mug. “Looks like there’s been some remodeling going on.”

“How right you are,” a soft voice commented. A tall man entered the room. _So this is what Brendan will look like in twenty years,_ Freya thought. “Robert Dean. And you must be Freya.” He extended his hand for her to shake.

“Yep, that’s me. And this is –”

“Michael Welles,” he said, interrupting the telepath.

Freya was more interested why she couldn’t read the man’s thoughts. She knew Michael could block, but someone else?

“Good to meet both of you. Listen, I know you’ve come a long way just to see the kid, but I gotta tell you, he’s not feeling well.”

“That’s what Martha said. What happened?” Michael shifted on the couch, images of Larkin’s pale eyes boring into his mind.

“Well, I’m not sure exactly. One minute he was fine, the next...” Robert shrugged, then winced. Evidently, he was suffering too.

“Headache?”

“That would be an understatement, Miss McAllister.”

Another figure appeared at the entrance. Paget Dean stood regally in navy blue and white, impassive mask on her face. “Hello, Freya. It’s good to see you again.” _:She can calm him down.:_ “Have a nice drive?”

Both visitors nodded, taking in Brendan’s parents. They looked harried, and tired, but happy.

“We’re glad he came to stay, but didn’t expect him to go backwards,” Robert said brightly. “I think he’ll be fine soon.”

Paget glanced at her former husband then at Welles. “I’m going to go upstairs to see if he’s okay with visitors.” She gestured to Freya. “Come with me?”

Freya smiled. “Absolutely.”

Watching the women leave, Robert came closer to Welles. “So I hear you’re a researcher, dealing with mind stuff.”

Frowning, Michael eyed the man before him. “If this has anything to do with –”

Robert put up his hands. “No, no. But I have some questions. Growing up, I didn’t have all the help Freya and others have now.” He sat down next to Welles. “I tried to sort out some feelings both Paget and Brendan had to better help them. But their emotions threw me into a tailspin.”

“You must have the worst headache – wait. Are you saying you’re an empath?” Michael’s own lethargy left him as he focused on Brendan’s father. “Do you just feel, or can you project?”

Smiling, Robert leaned back. “Both. Project, primarily. It’s how I helped my son the... first time. I soothed him out of a nightmare the other night, and could barely think straight.”

“The residual echoes? Must’ve felt like a feedback loop,” Michael said, placing his mug on the table. “How did Brendan take it?”

“How do you think?” Robert frowned. “After we calmed him, we sent him to bed. I was more concerned about the other echoes, though.”

Larkin’s memories. Michael never thought about how those memories would look to an empath. “The manipulator’s memories?”

“I guess. Brendan always responded right away in the past, but this time was a little different. I connected with him twice, the last time I think I got through easier.”

Michael considered his words. There were so many different types of empaths, and the researcher was ecstatic to actually deal with one. “Listen, I have a lab not far from here. With your permission, I’d like to run some tests, get to the bottom of your headaches, and see if I can help.” He handed over a card.

“Great.” Robert smiled sadly. “You know, I’ve never let myself get this deep before, but I thought it was worth it for my family.”

“That’s really the best reason, right?”

“You’re not kidding.” Pocketing the card, Robert rose. “Let’s go see what those girls are up to, shall we? Brendan’s been pretty restless this morning.”

The empath led the way up the stairs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oy. A little sappy. LOL


	6. Chapter 6

Freya entered a large bright room, following Brendan’s mother. On the right side of an enormous bed, she saw her feverish partner propped up on a mountain of pillows. He looked exhausted, but amusement lit his eyes.

“Hey,” he rasped. “I’m glad you came.” _:Could you please tell her I’ll be fine?:_

“I would, but you don’t look fine.”

Paget frowned, glancing at the dose of medicine still on the bedside table. “Well, you won’t get better without taking you medicine.” _:If he smirks at me one more time...:_

“You should listen to your mother,” Freya said, watching him watch Paget as she flitted around the room.

_:It makes me sleepy. And I don’t feel like sleeping right now.:_

“I know it makes you sleepy. That’s the whole reason you’re here. You know... to rest.”

 _:It’s going to drive her crazy every time you answer without me saying anything aloud.:_ Brendan grinned devilishly. “I will in a minute.”

Freya rolled her eyes. “Stop torturing your mother, and take your drugs.” Watching him swallow the pills, she sat on his bed. “I know you’ve been worrying a lot about, well, everything. But you gotta know everything is taken care of. The office will be closed next week, or until HQ decides to open it again.”

Brendan straightened on the pillows. His lethargic mind shifted into gear, making a list. “Harper must be beside himself. I’m going to type up my report as soon as my mother lets me into her office.” He narrowed his eyes at the woman standing by the window.

“Don’t be givin’ me the evil eye, Brendan Dean. You will have access when your fever goes away.”

“But –”

She moved away from the window, green eyes hard and worried. _:This is what he does, isn’t it? Wheedle his way into things, convincing everyone he can do any thing when he can barely stand.:_

“Mom. I’m not going anywhere. I promise I’ll stay in bed, if I can just use your laptop.” He gave a charming smile.

His mother reflected the smile. “Sorry, Pip. My game face is way better than yours.”

Watching the exchange with interest, Freya started to understand their dynamic. “I think you lost this round, Brendan.”

The other two men entered the room, seeing the mother-son standoff.

“Well, Michael. It looks like the Judge and the Fed are in negotiations.”

Welles’ tired eyes crinkled at the corners. “I‘m guessing there’s some sort of electronic device involved, maybe a laptop. And Agent Dean wants to type up a report.”

“Got it in one, Michael,” Freya said quietly.

“Will everyone quit gangin’ up on me? Sick person here.” Brendan sank back to the pillows, looking more exhausted.

Reaching over, Paget smoothed back her son’s hair, checking his fever. There hadn’t been a change since early this morning, and she was afraid having visitors hindered her efforts to care for him. “Yes, sick person. Let’s all go downstairs for lunch.”

“Cool,” Brendan said, tossing back the covers.

“Ah, ah! You know we’re not talking about you!” The Judge pointed a severe finger at her son. “You will stay in that bed the rest of the day, young man.”

 _:I can’t believe she’s doing this in front of everyone.:_ Pulling the covers back, Brendan pouted. “Yes, ma’am.”

His mother nodded sagely. “Good. Freya, I’ll let you stay if you can convince him to keep still.” _:If he moves, shoot him!:_ she thought with her own devilish smile.

Freya grinned; she definitely liked his mother. “Yes, ma’am!”

“I’ll send Martha up with a tray.” She kissed Brendan’s head. “Sleep if you have to, all right, Pip?”

“Fine.” _:Man, I hate when she calls me that. Whatever happened to Scout?:_

When they left, Freya hopped over his legs and landed on the other side of the bed. “This bed is way bigger than the one you have at your house.”

Brendan smiled sleepily. “I know. Not nearly as comfortable, though.” He curled on his side to face her. _:I keep getting stuck in his memories. It’s making my dad sick.:_

Hearing the worry in his mind-voice, Freya patted his hand. “Why is it making your dad sick?”

He shook his head. “Not sick, sick. Bad headaches and stuff. He’s an empath, you know.”

Freya’s brows went up in surprise. _That’s why I can’t sense him._ “Is he? I think that’s cool. And burdensome. He’s helping you through your nightmares?”

Brendan frowned, hazel eyes glossing over. She called his name a few times, only to find him unresponsive. Closing her eyes, Freya concentrated on his scattered and jumbled thoughts.

_Little Brendan stared up at his father, vision blurry with tears. Robert Dean’s eyes had turned curious colors of blue and gold; soft words of comfort on his lips._

Was he imagining this, or did it happen?

“My mom,” he began flatly, staring at a point over her shoulder. “My mom would get so angry at him, every time he did that. I didn’t know anything, except I always felt better afterwards. He made me feel safe and warm.”

“Fathers should always make their kids feel safe, Brendan.” She watched, inside and out, as he pulled his mind to the here and now. Holding his gaze, Freya patted his hand.

With a crooked smile, Brendan closed his eyes. “You shoulda seen the look on mom’s face when dad came to talk to me. I thought she would fidget right out of her skin.”

“When he told you he –”

“Yeah. I suspected, but it was still a surprise when he confirmed it.” He opened his eyes, showing hazel green and bright.

 _Maybe too bright. He still doesn’t look well._ “What?”

Brendan sat upright, running a shaky hand through his hair. “I wanna show you something.” He stood gingerly, testing his balance. _:Don’t get dizzy. Don’t get dizzy. Don’t get – Crap.:_ Placing a hand on the bed for stability, Brendan closed his eyes briefly, then walked to the closet.

“I don’t think this is such a good idea, Agent Dean.”

Brendan snorted, then pushed back the few clothes hanging on the rack. Pressing on a small indentation, the back panel of the closet slid away with a whisper. “Hmm. I guess it’s been fixed.” Turning back to his friend, he gestured her to follow him into the darkness. “Well? Are you coming? This won’t take long, I promise.”

“Yeah, right. You have a secret passageway in your house! Of course I’m coming.”

Reaching over her head, Brendan flipped a switch; small sconces lit the narrow, curving staircase. “I spent a lot of time here when I was a kid.” Images flashed through his mind of playing, reading, and hiding on these stairs. The image of an sickly, elderly woman smiling at him quickly vanished. _:Grammy. Sorry:_ came a whispered thought. With a sigh, Brendan sat down heavily. “This was my grandmother’s house. Her parents made bathtub gin, and ran a lucrative liquor business out of their garage. That’s how she met my grandfather.”

“You have one hell of a history, Brendan Dean. Gypsies, marauders, smugglers, lawyers.”

“The Dean/Nolan clan know how to work both sides of the law,” he replied with a sad and crooked smile. His eyes brightened. “Now do you see why I became a government agent?” As he rose, Brendan motioned her onward. “Almost there.”

“If your mom comes back, I ain’t takin’ the blame, Mister.”

“Don’t even worry about it. What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her. Therefore, she can’t hurt me. See where this is going?”

“Presently, we’re going down a hidden staircase when you should be going to bed.”

 _:Ah, c’mon! Where’s yer sense of adventure?:_ Brendan paused mid-step; an image popped into his head. He remembered trying to make it to this passageway before he got caught. The thought was quickly banished with a deep breath. At the bottom of the stairs, he took another breath and continued to a niche in a paneled wall. Sitting on the narrow bench, Brendan removed two ornate wooden flowers from the carved wood.

“Are you kidding me? Peepholes?”

The hazel eyes glinted mischievously in the dim light. “We’re spying. Come over here and look.”

Freya wondered if the bright spots on his cheeks were due to his fever or exertion or both. “Fine. But only a minute. You need to –”

“Yeah, yeah I know. Bed. Whatever. Ooh. Parental units.”

The Deans sat in the breakfast nook, very close together. They were having a heated discussion in whispers.

“Where’s Michael?”

“Probably in the parlor. That peephole is about forty paces that way.” Brendan pointed down the very narrow hall that disappeared into darkness. _:Didn’t bring a flashlight, sorry.:_

“That’s okay. It’s giving me the creeps anyway.”

“Robert. I know you want to feel unburdened with the whole empathic thing –”

“It’s not a thing, Paget.” _:Why is she so paranoid? She’s wound so tight, she might break.:_ “This is something I’ve tried to handle on my own, but it’s not working out so well.”

Paget’s frown became deeper. “I didn’t realize it had gotten so bad for you.”

“In the past, migraine meds or just plain aspirin would help. Not to mention a scotch bender,” Robert responded, giving a self-deprecating smile. “You know how well those worked out.”

She fingered her necklace. “Learned to climb trees like Brendan. Evidently, he got that from you.”

“What?”

“Hiding in trees. At least you never fell.”

“Well, not that you know of. Thank goodness I don’t bruise easily.”

“Ha! I knew I wasn’t dreaming about that!” Brendan smiled triumphantly; Freya rolled her eyes.

“Sorry to keep you waiting,” a new voice said. Michael came to sit on the other side of the small table. “I’ve arranged a meeting with my empathic specialist. The information you provide us with will be valuable to help others.”

Robert shrugged. “Glad to do it. Like I said, I never had much help. And honestly, if it wasn’t for my family, no telling where I’d be now.” He put an arm around Paget, who cringed, then relaxed.

Patting his hand, she gave a tentative smile. “Well, I’m not sure what brought this on, but I’m willing to, um, support you.”

“This is all your fault, actually.”

“What? I never –”

Robert laughed. “All the changes you’ve made here, and in your own life, got me thinking. Then allowing me to help – and be involved – with Brendan led to where I am now.” He kissed her cheek.

 _:Man, they’re cute. And they’re mine.:_ “Uh. You didn’t just –”

Freya nodded vigorously. “Oh yeah, Agent Dean. Loud and clear. You do like your parents, no matter what you say.” She patted her partner on the shoulder. “Come on. Back to bed.”

“Wait! I –”

“Excuse me, Judge. That pipsqueak is outta bed again.” Martha stood, wringing a towel in her hands.

Paget frowned, looking directly at the peepholes. “Brendan Dean! Get back in your bed right now!”

 _:Oh, crap!:_ Brendan replaced the flowers and darted as best he could back up the stairs, dragging Freya behind him. “She’s gonna strap me down to that bed and kill me with food and motherly concern.” Hopping into bed, he watched Freya smooth out the covers over his body. _:Okay. I’m done with the spinning room now.:_

“Well, I can’t help with the spins, but I can get you some water. Hang on.” She returned with a full glass, frowning at the hooded sweatshirt twisted around his torso. “You should take that off.”

Blinking heavily, Brendan shook his head. “Can’t. Cold.” Images filtered through his mind. Some as ghost images, some blurry, while others sharp and clear. _:Leaking again.:_

“You’ll feel better once you’re comfortable.” She pulled him upright, helping him out of the damp jacket. Freya went to the chest of drawers, taking advantage of his semi-alertness. She returned to his side with a nice dry tee shirt.

 _:Ooh. Long sleeves.:_ he thought blearily.

“You know I’ll take care of ya.” Freya tried not to cringe at the countable ribs and fading bruises all over his body. _The visible bruises around his neck were nearly gone, but the rest were in for the long haul. If only..._

_:Stop staring!:_

Startling out of her thoughts, Freya looked at his face. “Sorry.”

“And quit blaming yourself. If I’m not allowed, neither are you.” He yawned, and curled onto his good side. “So did the good doctor let you drive?”

“Yep!” A very pleased smile creased her face. “Michael was relaxed enough to fall asleep.”

Brendan snorted. “Or he was afraid to watch.”

Rewarding him with a gentle slap to the arm, she remained grinning. “I have excellent driving skills. I get to drive you home when you’re ready.”

Opening his eyes fully, he glanced at the open door. “Can we go now?”

“Are you kidding me? If you leave this bed, not only will your mother tie you down, but she’d lock me in the attic or something.”

Her partner was busy imagining himself in the role of James Caan, and his mother as Kathy Bates, wielding a sledgehammer.

“Stop that!” Freya exclaimed, slapping his arm again. “You’re making me abuse you! Drink your water and go to sleep.”

“Fine. But if you start getting cryptic IMs or text messages, drop everything and come get me.” His stomach gave a loud rumble in reply. “Guess I’ll eat first.”

Freya hopped off the bed. “I’m on it.”

Upon exiting the room, she nearly ran into Martha who carried a tray. Paget followed with a concerned expression. She gave a small smile, crossing her arms. “Is he still awake?”

“Yep – yes. At least for now. He seems to be convinced he’s going to leave soon.”

“Not if I can help it. I’m sure his father will help.”

Brendan looked up suspiciously between the three women. _:Why do I feel like I’m under a microscope?:_

“Yes, you’re under a big microscope, Pip.” Martha waited for Brendan to sit upright before placing the tray over his lap. “Eat what you can, all right?” Hurrying out of the room, she checked her watch.

“Yes, ma’am.” He stared down at the plate populated with a half ham sandwich, apple slices, and a cup of leftover stew. “Mmm. Apples.”

Freya had the other half of the sandwich, which she happily ate while watching and listening to her partner. His mother had similar ideas, watching him eat the way she always had.

 _:Why is he eating the apples first? Wait. Why do I care? He’s eating for God’s sake! And he doesn’t look green at all.:_ Paget’s mind whirled around, shifting between seeing Brendan as very young to his present age.

Her mind doesn’t shut off either. _These Deans..._ Freya shook her head. “Any pointers for getting my license?”

Brendan’s hazel eyes narrowed. “I’m not telling you how to cheat the system, missy.”

“There’s no way to cheat it. All it takes is a good memory. You of all people should know that,” Freya smiled, watching him remember his first driver’s test. “White Lion? Seriously?”

“It was the eighties, gimme a break.”

“He did love his monster ballads,” Paget laughed. “He stole my Journey tapes. I couldn’t find them for weeks.” When she looked up, she saw her son and his companion with the same look of surprise. “It was the eighties, gimme a break.” She leaned over for Freya’s empty plate, setting it on the nearby table. “Finish your lunch, sweetie. Then I want you to take a little nap.”

 _:Eat and sleep. That’s all I do. I’ll never see the outside again.:_ “I doubt I can avoid it.”

Freya stood, shoving her hands in her pockets. The half of a half sandwich steadfastly remained on his plate while he finished the soup. When his eyes started to droop, Freya smiled at his mother. “Well, I think it’s time to get Michael out to the farm and make him sleep too.”

Brendan waved absently, eyes unfocused and sleepy. “Good idea. He looked like he could use it.” He glanced at his mother, who conveyed a look of... _:Why is she looking at me like that?:_

Playing with her necklace again, the judge busied herself by removing the tray, and tapping her foot. _:I hate when he gets pale like that. He needs a lot of sleep and a lot of food. I guess I can’t really tie him down and make him stay, but...:_

Freya shut off her whirling thoughts, focusing on her partner. “She might just be worried about you, kid. Let her be your mom. Whine a little. Get cranky before dinner. Take your naps. Wake up cranky. You know... the usual.”

“Yeah, yeah. Clean my plate, et cetera.” _:She’s still looking at me. I think she might... hug me, or something.:_

“Stop with the mind-talk!” Stepping forward, Paget fluffed a pillow, then leaned down to kiss his forehead. “Got to sleep right now.”

Freya snapped to attention and gave a sheepish wave. “See ya soon, Brendan Dean.” Leaving the room, she could hear a brief argument between mother and son over a laptop.

\------------------

Downstairs, Michael Welles asked so many questions, he had to get paper and a pen. When Freya entered the kitchen, the doctor was following Robert as he collected dishes and straightened the nook. He had shooed the Carswells out the door to enjoy the rest of their Sunday earlier; housework calmed him and he welcomed it. 

Listening to their buzz of thoughts, Freya filtered out the lightning fast questions emanating from Welles. 

“Sorry I’m asking so many questions, but these will help me get started.”

“It’s not a problem. Sure you don’t want anything else to eat? Drink?” Squinting, Robert opened his mind while Michael answered. With great discomfort, the empath realized he couldn’t help himself. He had a keen interest in knowing when people were lying, but Robert knew the good doctor let his curiosity get the best of him. Reachin casually for a glass, Robert filled it with orange juice.

“Okay,” Welles said, making a final note. He absently drank the juice, and checked his watch. “When can you come out and visit?”

 _:What is it with these agents? They seem to survive on so little.:_ “Well, I am retired, so when should I come?” _:He’s so anxious. What have I gotten myself into?:_ “I think when Brendan is squared away, I’ll give you a call.”

 _:I think that’s fine. Wait. I need a calendar. Where...?:_ “Hey, Freya. What’s today?”

“Umm... the twelfth, I think.” Leaning against the counter, she tapped her nails against the granite. It was time to leave Matilda so everyone could rest and renew. The office was closed for the next week, and she wondered how many employees would sit still for that long. “Come on, Michael. Let’s go see that lovely farm.”

Michael ripped off the pages he scribbled on, then held out his hand to Robert. “Thank you, Mister Dean. I’m looking forward to working together.”

Walking to the front door, they waved to Paget at the top of the stairs.

 _:This is gonna be brutal!:_ Brendan’s thoughts drifted down the stairs.

“That was nice,” Freya said as they got in the car. Sitting in the driver’s seat, she started the car. Hoping Michael didn’t notice, she steered the car down the long drive.

 _:You think you’re sneaky, don’t you?:_ “Make a left at the stop sign.”

With a beatific smile, Freya flipped the signal to turn.

\-----------------

Two weeks later, Brendan Dean entered the New York branch office of the NSA. He didn’t expect the round of applause that greeted him. Blushing furiously, he made his way to his immaculate desk. _:Now how am I supposed to find anything?:_ “Thanks, guys. That means a lot.”

_:I can’t believe this happened to him.:_

_:Harper’s been fuming for a week over this whole incident.:_

_:Great. He’s back. I’m never gonna catch up to him.:_

_:He actually got away!:_

_:Wow. He still looks tired, but at least he’s alive, right?:_

“Welcome back, Agent Dean,” Jon Harper said, gesturing towards his office. “I got your report. Your mother must have been furious.”

 _:In fact, I haven’t heard her use such language in years.:_ “She even proofread it for me,” he said with a crooked smile.

“You’re a very bad liar, Mister Dean, but I appreciate the report nonetheless. Let’s talk.”

The door closed, leaving Freya to eavesdrop on their thoughts.

_:What did I tell you about eavesdropping?:_

Welles’ voice derailed her concentration. “I can’t help it! Maybe he’ll tell me about it later.”

“Maybe. In the meantime, I’ve got a job for you.”

Freya rose from her desk, wondering if deja vu was a secret ability.

\---------------

The End!


End file.
